


A Room of One's Own

by littlesprouts



Category: Wooden Overcoats (Podcast)
Genre: Anyways, Gen, Here goes, Hurt/Comfort, i guess?, i had to share a room with my sister for almost up when i moved out, more parent lore for Melanie_D_Peony, more sibling interaction, parental death is mentioned, sibling typical violence and threats, so i know the struggle, the twins have always had to share a room, there's a dead mouse in there (not madeline ofc)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-27
Updated: 2021-01-02
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:48:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,925
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28361943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlesprouts/pseuds/littlesprouts
Summary: Rudyard and Antigone had to share a room for all of their lives and it was Terrible. Surely finally having their own rooms would bring only advantages, right?
Relationships: Antigone Funn & Rudyard Funn
Comments: 34
Kudos: 9





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> It's my first Christmas without my sister and not that I miss her but,

Rudyard and Antigone Funn had shared a room all their lives. Their parents had barely planned to have one child, let alone more than that - so when they found out about having twins they were far too disgruntled to turn the attic into a nursery. Besides, they needed the space to store things neither of them wanted but were too cheap to pay bulk trash pick-up for.  
And for the first few years it worked out passably. Apart from the infants waking each other up with their crying and later occasional fights over toys the arrangement worked out well enough until the twins hit puberty. From that point on it was a disaster.

Rudyard screamed.

'WHY??'  
'Oh, shut up!'  
'NO! WHY??? WHY ARE YOU LIKE THIS?'  
'Rudyard stop screaming, you're going to wake mother,' Antigone hissed, even though they both knew their mother only pretended to sleep in the afternoons.  
'I ALWAYS KNEW YOU'D START KILLING AT ONE POINT BUT I THOUGHT I STILL HAD A FEW YEARS BEFORE YOU'D ACTUALLY-'  
'Oh, I didn't bloody kill it! I took it from the Johnson's cat, it was already dead as a-'  
'DEAD MOUSE!' Rudyard yelled accusingly from on top of the nightstand.  
'It's just a mouse!' the animal in question, held by Antigone by its pink tail, swung to and fro with her words. Rudyard followed its movements with wide eyes. He was starting to feel a bit sick.  
'WHY! MUST YOU! BRING! A DEAD! MOUSE! INTO OUR BEDROOM!'  
'Where else am I to practise?' she gestured to the My First Embalming Kit on the rug..  
'Would you rather I did it at the kitchen table? Don't give me any more opportunities to poison your breakf-'  
Rudyard started howling.  
'SHUT UP! And get down from there!'  
'No! Not when the floor is all but _covered_ in needles and scalpels and dead mouses-'  
'It's _mice_. And there's only one.'  
'-and glass shards.'  
'What gla-'  
Rudyard nudged the lamp on the nightstand with his foot. It shattered directly in front of Antigone, surrounding her socked feet with a myriad of delicate glittering pieces.  
Both sucked in a sharp breath.  
There was rustling at the bottom of the stairs.  
'What was that noise?!' boomed their father's voice up at them. The twin's eyes met and there was almost a sort of companionship between them in that moment. _Almost._ Because in the next one Antigone chucked the mouse at Rudyard.

~

Rudyard was on her heels, gaining ground quickly despite his size.  
'I wish I had my own room!' he screamed after her.  
'Well I wish I had my own room too! But guess what,' she gasped, bolting up the stairs. 'That'll only come true when one of us bloody _kicks it_!'  
She rounded the corner too fast, slipped on the rug on the landing and scraped both her knees. Cursing she picked herself up and toppled towards the bedroom door.  
'I hope it's gonna be you!' Rudyard's voice came from close behind, trembling with fury.  
'Well I hope it's gonna be you, obviously!' she threw the door shut behind her and jammed it with a fork which prongs she had previously bent for that exact purpose. Less than a second later she could hear her brother crashing against the wood. He banged his fists against it in frustration.  
' _Obviously_!' he yelled – before spraining his ankle in an ill-advised attempt to kick in the door.

In an ironic – yet tragic – turn of events their wish should be granted while both of them survived. Their parents however, should not.

'Broken heart,' the doctor had declared, ineffectually hiding his yawn behind a latex-gloved hand.  
'Which of them?' Rudyard had asked, swaying slightly.  
'Both.'  
He handed Rudyard the death certificate who took it awkwardly, trying not to drop the crutch in the process.  
'I'll be seeing myself out,' the doctor said with a nod to his plastered foot.  
'My condolences to your sister,' he yawned before stumbling back to the hospital.  
Antigone stepped forward and took the paper out of her brother's stiff fingers.  
'There's a coffee stain covering half the page,' she remarked tonelessly.


	2. Chapter 2

After a funeral only they attended Rudyard and Antigone slunk back home. They sat at the kitchen table in silence, broken only by Antigone turning on the kettle to fix herself a cup of tea and Rudyard another cup of hot water he would stare into but not drink. It grew dark around them but neither moved to turn on the light.

'What now?' he finally said, voice hoarse from disuse.  
'We should go to bed,' she croaked, 'I think it's late.'  
He didn't move so she went around the table and pulled him to his foot.  
'Come on.'  
After making sure Rudyard actually hobbled up the stairs she gave him a moment to dress for bed by washing her cup in the sink. She simply dumped out Rudyard's and put both on the rack to dry. They'd deal with everything else in the coming days.  
The small light was on when she peered into the bedroom. Her brother was a lump of blankets, face turned towards the wall. She changed in the bathroom and took down her hair. Returning next door she turned off the lamp and crept into her own bed.  
There was a sniffel.  
'Goodnight Rudyard.'  
Another sniffel in response.   
She closed her eyes and though she did not expect sleep to come at all it found her easily that night.

'Rudyard, I've been thinking,' she opened carefully. It had been almost two weeks of orphanhood and they had taken up ignoring the empty room at the end of the hall. Except Antigone had come to the conclusion that there possibly was a better use of their already meagre imaginations.  
She told him over breakfast – she had even opened a carton of milk in an attempt to put him into a more accomodable mood.  
'You want to move out.'  
'Out of our room. Yes.'  
She braced herself for the inevitable resistance Rudyard responded with every time he was faced with the suggestion of change.  
'Sure.'  
'Now, don't be so fast to- wait.' This was unprecedented. 'You... you agree?'  
'Of course.'  
'Of course,' she repeated slowly in disbelief, 'Tonight?'  
'The sooner the better, right?'  
'Tonight then,' she said, eyes narrow.

Hours later Antigone moved all of her belongings (consisting mostly of tattered paperback books with shirtless men on the cover and three nearly identically stained and moth-eaten black dresses) out of their – _Rudyard's_ – room and into their parent's – _her_ – room. Rudyard sat on his bed and worked hard to look unfazed by her packing. He was holding an old issue of The Modern Mortuary Manual Monthly in his hands and pretended to read it.  
'So,' Antigone said pointedly.  
Rudyard didn't look up.  
' _So_ ,' she said again, louder, gripping the pillowcase she filled with the last of the books harder to give her words more weight.  
Rudyard slowly put a finger to his mouth, wet it with his tongue and turned a page.  
'I'm going now.'  
'Hm-hm,' came the mumbled acknowledgement from behind the yellowed magazine.  
'That's it then. The end of an era, one could say. If one were terribly sentimental, that is.'  
'Good thing neither of us are, then.'  
'No, I guess we're not.'  
Rudyard turned another page.  
'Well,' she tried one last time to get a reaction from her brother with whom she had shared this room for eighteen years, seven months and three days. But who's counting.  
'Goodbye Rudyard.'  
'Huh? Oh, 'bye Antigone,' he replied without setting The Manual down.  
She straightened her back as much as was comfortable (not a lot) and tightened her grip on the bundle, dragging it behind her to the room at the end of the hall where her clothes already lay piled on the double bed. She turned around, looking at the trail of visible floor she had left in the thick cover of dust.  
'And Rudyard,' she yelled.  
'Yes?'  
'You're holding it upside down.'


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rudyard is straight-up not having a good time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I FEEL AS THOUGH I HAVE TO DEDICATE THIS TO MELANIE_D_PEONY WITHOUT WHOM I WOULDNT BE WRITING THIS

They had dinner together that night (a disappointing dish consisting of a few limp carrots and potatoes which had already begun to sprout in the dark of the pantry) and after they were both done pretending to be hungry went upstairs to get ready for bed.   
'Woogwight Wudyawd,' Antigone said while taking down her hair in walking across the landing, words obscured by the pins between her teeth.  
'Goodnight Antigone.' He felt as if he should add something but did not.  
  
When Rudyard emerged from getting changed Antigone had already finished in the bathroom and the door to their parent's – _her_ – room was closed. He brushed his teeth and waged the ever-waging lost war with his acne in the bathroom mirror for fifteen minutes or so before sighing and returning to his room. He took a last look at the strip of yellow light under the door at the end of the hall and closed his. He usually read before bed but tonight he found himself unable to concentrate. He kept reading the same paragraph over and over again, without retaining any information about dovetail joints at all. Which was a shame because the previous chapter about butt joints and how to strenghten them with dowels or biscuits had downright exhilarated him. At one point he had even let out a chuckle. _A real-life chuckle._ Which had earned him a concerned look from Antogone from her bed across the room.

Of course that was before. Before dead parents and before sisters who pounced at the first chance of getting away from him. Though he had craved privacy just as much as her, it had still stung when she disclosed her plan. It was silly, really. He had wanted his own room since Antigone had set fire to the doll house she never used but he secretly loved. They had been six, then.

Twelve years later Antigone's bed now stood empty and stripped of its sheets against the wall.

He closed the book, placed it on his bedside table and turned off the light. He pulled the blanket around him. Rudyard wasn't scared of the dark, per se. He just wished he could see what was lay beyond it. Of course he _knew_ the laundry chair wasn't a hunched silverback gorilla ready to pounce and he _knew_ that silverback gorillas weren't native to the isles in the English channel – both of these facts he learned from watching a nature documentary when he was twelve. But in the face of its outline against the window, _facts_ didn't help him at all. He closed his eyes against the spooky-looking furniture and focused on his breathing which had gotten more and more shallow and had started to make his chest hurt. A sound as if a large subtropical animal shifted its weight. The long since out of order heater gave a _pang_ which reminded him of bursting pipes and explosive gases. A rustling, which could have been the wind in the trees outside, or the bathroom tap turned on all the way, slowly filling the house with dark water. He pulled the blanket over his ears in an effort to block the many sounds of the night which the dark didn't waste any time on amplifying. Had he lived in a new and sturdy house, build from cement and preferably in this century, it might have worked. But the Funn residence was old and crooked and its rooms in various states of disrepair. Rudyards ancestors had built the very foundation from the timbers of shipwrecks, cast ashore some two hundred years ago – and these foundations lay on the ones before that. Over the decades the house had received new roofs and windows and in the more recent renovations even central heating and running water. All this history had made the house noisy and harder for the undertaker to fall asleep. This wasn't exactly a new development – though not having another breathing human being close by was. So far Rudyard had been able to attribute at least some of the creaking and rustling in the room to his sister, and any noises beyond the bedroom door to his parents.  
Now he was left alone.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alright, SOME ANGST!   
> Heads up for some blood mention my good dudes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rudyard breaks a lamp 2: electric boogaloo

He was sweating despite the cold air of the bedroom. He vaguely noticed that he was shaking. His mouth was dry. Longingly he though about the glass of water on his nightstand, unattainable beyond more than an arm's stretch into the darkness. The floorboards creaked, still remembering the sea beyond the vale. He felt as if the dark had a weight to it, pressing down on him, making it hard, so hard to breathe. Rudyard thought he might pass out. He grabbed the sheets with damp hands. An icy fist curled in his stomach, bile rose in his throat. The thought of having to throw up sent a cascade of shivers down his spine. He'd never make it to the bathroom. He'd have to run through the dark of his room and the even deeper dark of the corridor. Impossible. He wasn't sure his legs would even carry him.   
He wished it was daytime. He wished he was anywhere else. But where was there to go? He'd rather whatever lurked in the darkness got him than wake Antigone. Giving her just another reason to hate him and ruin her first night in her own room. Downstairs in the cold kitchen the fire burned out hours ago. There were too many dark corners in it plus it was closer to the mortuary where he secretly suspected the dark to breed and spread upwards into the rest of the house. There was nowhere to go.  
 _Nowhere to go. Nowhere to go._ He felt his heart beat painfully fast against his ribs. He imagined the darkness to be like black ink, rushing into his lungs, choking him, drowning him – oh God, he was going to pass out. He could feel the cold numbness building at the back of his skull. No. No, no, _no_. He screwed his eyes shut tightly – and in an act of bravery threw his arm out from under the blankets, frantically feeling around for the light. His jittery hand connected with the foot of the lamp – pushing it over, its cable catching on the glass of water. Rudyard felt the noise in his bones as both as well as the book fell to the floor with a clatter and a crash.  
He let himself fall to the floor, blindly and with increasing panic fumbling for the lamp switch but only finding the remnants of the broken glass.  
He cried out at the sharp stab of pain and immediately bit his tongue to silence himself again. He held his breath and listened: the sound of almost inaudible footsteps on the landing. His door was opened a crack.  
'Rudyard? Are you alright?'  
Just hearing her voice, he felt a wave of relief crash against his shoddy facade and wash over him.   
He finally started to cry.  
Antigone turned on the big ceiling light and revealed her brother kneeling on the floor in front of the bed, clutching his bleeding right hand to his chest.  
She cursed.   
Carefully stepping over the shards she rushed over and crouched down next to him. She made a move forward, like she was going to take his hands in hers but stopped abruptly, opting to cross her arms over her chest instead.  
'What did you- what happened?' she asked.  
He wouldn't meet her eye.  
'Show me your hand,' she demanded. He held it out to her.  
Antigone sucked in a sharp breath, her eyebrows knitted together.  
'Okay. Off to the bathroom,' she declared, carefully but forcefully pulling him up by his wrist.  
'Ha- ahh!' he let out a pained shout.  
'Sorry – come on.'  
She led him to the bathroom and turned on the cold tap of the sink.  
'Ready? It's going to be cold,' she warned him. He nodded. She carefully moved his hand under the water, first letting it spill over his uninjured palm and her own hand still holding his wrist, then gradually letting it wash over his fingers. He winced when the stream reached the cuts and instinctively tried to pull his hand back but she held it fast. She waited until the water that ran into the drain was clear before turning it off. She held his hand up to the light.  
'A plaster should be enough for the thumb,' she decided. 'The other three I'm going to bandage. The cuts aren't deep but it will limit the movement and hopefully help the skin close faster.' There were already new beads of blood forming. She turned on the tap again.  
'Hold it under the water again,' she said and turned towards the door. Rudyard's chest tightened.  
'Where are you going?' He hated how high and pathetic his voice came out.  
'The mortuary. I'll be back in a minute,' she reassured him and darted down the stairs without turning on the light. How did she do it? The dark never seemed to bother _her_. Even though the light in both his and the bathroom were now on it felt like the dark was encroaching on every side still.   
A rustle. What was left of his blood was rushing in his ears.   
'See? Barely fifty seconds,' Antigone slipped into the light again and Rudyard gave a startled yelp.  
'Alright! Just me, see? Now, here,' she gently dabbed the wounds dry and put a plaster on his thumb. She eyed the cuts on his other fingers.  
'Should I...should I put iodine?' she raised her brows questioningly. Rudyard finally met her eyes. They both winced at the memory of their mother swabbing skinned knees and elbows with the burning liquid.  
'Maybe, uhm,' he cleared his throat, 'Maybe see if it goes okay without it?'  
'Fine.' she agreed. 'But you tell me if it gets infected, right? Any swelling or-'  
'Yes.'   
She searched his eyes for a clue if he meant it or just wanted her to shut up and move on. This time he didn't look away so not unsatisfied she suspected both.  
'Good.'  
She opened a packet of gauze with her teeth and dressed the cuts. Then she unrolled a bit of the bandage and put the end on the inside of Rudyard's wrist, wrapping it around twice. He watched in surprised awe as she wrapped it diagonally across the back of his hand up to the nail of his pinkie finger, straight across the front of his fingers and then diagonally across the back of his hand to the outside of his wrist before wrapping his wrist again.   
' _How do you know this_ ,' he asked in utter astonishment.  
'From a book,' she answered curtly, wrapping his his hand in a figure eight until only the very tips of his fingers were peeking out.  
'A medical book?'   
'A.... _romance_ book.'  
' _Oh._ '  
'A young couple survives a plane crash on a lonely island and-'  
'I don't need to know this,' he decided.  
'Good call,' she agreed.  
She finished by wrapping the bandage around his wrist two more times and tucking the end in.  
'How's that?' she asked. He tentatively moved his fingers.  
'Good,' he answered.  
'You don't have to sound so surprised,' she mumbled, then pressed one of her nails into his hand where the skin was still visible. It went pale (well, _paler_ ) under the pressure but went back to Rudyard's normal skin colour when she lifted the finger again  
'Okay.' she concluded, audibly pleased with her work.  
She let go of Rudyard's hand.   
'Now, tell me what happened?'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okayyyyy I know I said this was gonna be the last chapter but then it got so long so there's gonna be another one!  
>  rejoice ~
> 
> PS: do any of you remember how much iodine tincture used to burn??? Just seeing that brown bottle made one cry more than the actual wound   
> That shit can stay in the 90s for all I care


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, just so you know there's talk about death in here (which, if it bothers you I'm not sure why you're reading fanfiction of a podcast about UNDERTAKERS but chase your bliss I guess)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaand here's some COMFORT after all that HURT! I feel like the characters got a little away from me in this one and it turned out way soppier that I intended, but hey, maybe that's your jam? I really hope it is

He shrunk back from her. His eyes dropped to his bare feet on the tiled floor.  
'Rudyard,' she demanded. He didn't answer.  
'Did you have a bad dream?' she asked. _Like one would ask a child.  
_ 'I didn't sleep at all,' he mumbled.  
'What? It's near morning,' she tried to catch his gaze and didn't succeed.  
He pulled up his narrow shoulders into a shrug.  
'Do you not want to talk about it?'  
He shook his head, then shrugged again.  
'Okay.' she took a deep breath and put her hands on her hips. He wondered if she'd sent him back to bed now, like an unruly five-year-old.  
'You should wash up, you smell like after a double period PE.' she said instead.  
'Wh-' he started to protest but Antigone was already on the way into his room.  
'Antigone! What are y-' She squatted down in front of his dresser and pulled out a fresh set of threadbare nightwear.  
'Hey, quit touching my stuff-'  
She threw the clothes at him and he caught them, wincing when they touched his hand.  
'Sorry- go wash up,' she repeated.  
'I want the blue one,' he conceded.  
With a roll of her eyes she took the set from him and put it pack, pulling out another one.  
'Here. Now.'  
Grumbling he limped back to the bathroom and closed the door behind him. It was difficult to get clean without getting his bandaged foot or hand wet but after some contortions he managed to do an okay job. The water was cold and didn't help stop him from shivering. He quickly put on the shirt and trousers Antigone had thrust at him and padded back into his room where a gust of icy air greeted him. His sister had had opened the window and was sweeping up the glass from the floor. She heard him behind her and rushed to close the window, shutting the night out.  
'Wait there,' she instructed him.  
He obeyed and stood in the doorframe, watching her collect the rest of the shards in a rusty dustpan.  
'Okay.' she allowed. He walked over and slumped down on the bed, but that wasn't allowed him either.  
'Get up, get out some linens,' she ordered. She went to the bathroom and threw away the shards. Rudyard got up again and one-armedly fumbled with the drawer. She came back to help him. They stripped the bed and changed the sheets.  
Antigone patted the pillow flat and gestured towards it.  
'I'm not-'  
'Oh, you're shaking like a bloody leaf, get in.'  
He laboriously crept into bed, minding his hand.  
Antigone had put the lamp back on the nightstand. She flipped the switch. Nothing happened. Rudyard swallowed.  
Not only was he going to be alone again in a minute, _he was going to be alone without a light.  
_ 'Hang on.' she marched to her room and emerged shortly after with something small in her hand.  
'What-'  
'I don't need it,' she cut him off, screwing Rudyard's broken bulb out and hers in. She tried the switch again: bright white light illuminated her face.  
Rudyard was close to start crying with relief again.  
' _There_ ,' she said satisfied.  
He thought he saw the faintest of smiles flit over her cracked lips but it was gone too fast to be sure. She got up.  
'Just a minute,' she raised her hands to counter the question bubbling up in his throat before he even got it out. She turned and scurried down the stairs.  
Shivering he sunk into the pillow, listening to the sounds coming from the kitchen. The house suddenly seemed very quiet apart from the faint whistling of the kettle and the opening and closing of drawers. He forced himself to breathe more deeply and blinked away a few tears as Antigone came bustling up the stairs again. She was holding a cup and a glass bottle with a swing top, like the ones his grandmother had used to make cordial in. This one was filled with water, it seemed.  
'I don't want tea.' he informed her. It had been enough trips to the bathroom for one night.  
'The tea is for me,' she shot back, instead thrusting the bottle at him. It was warm. He quickly hugged it closer to his body, repressing a blissful sigh.  
Antigone produced a yellow pocket square. He shot her a questioning look.  
'I think it was dad's,' she shrugged.  
'I've never seen him wear that.'  
'Me neither, but it's in his pocket on their wedding photo.'  
This shook him to somewhere deep. He'd didn't know such sentimental memoralia of his parents even existed. His sister must've seen the look on his face.  
'It's in th- my room.' she explained, unfolding the kerchief and draping it over the lampshade, immediately bathing the room into a warmer shade.  
'I think it's real silk.'  
He stretched out his bandaged hand to touch it. It was impossibly soft. He allowed his fingertips to glide over the smooth fabric in wonderment. It looked so new and out of place against everything in this hand-me-down room, in this hand-me-down house. There was so much history here – and now his parents were part of it. It seemed to him now, that he hadn't really known his parents at all. The kerchief just proved it. And now he never would. All of a sudden the carefully held-back tears broke free. Antigone startled and looked up at him in shock from her place on the floor. But it all was no use now, he couldn't stop.   
In rising she quickly put down her cup and perched herself on the edge of his bed.  
'Rudyard-' she raised a hand to touch his shoulder but lost heart and let it float in the air between them for a moment before dropping it. His breaths came in short shallow bursts – it scared her. It sounded like he was suffocating.  
'Rudyard,' she tried again, this time committing to grabbing his arm. He turned to look at her with red-rimmed eyes. He looked so miserable, there was a pang in Antigone's chest. Instinctively she opened her arms and he threw himself into the hug. This was uncharted waters. They hadn't really hugged since they were children and even then it hadn't been like this. This felt _important_.  
She tentatively wrapped her arms around her brother. He clutched at her nightgown and buried his face in the crook of her neck, shaking with violent sobs.  
'Shhh. Hey. _Hey._ ' she said gently and began awkwardly rubbing his back.  
Rudyard sniffed and she could vividly imagine the amount of snot soaking her clothes. She still held on tight.  
'It just-' he croaked, 'it just seems like such a waste, you know? Death, I mean. They weren't exactly young but they weren't old, either. So much – t-time – left unused. You know? I'm- you know?' His breathlessness forced him to pause after each word.  
'I know.'  
'It doesn't make sense!'  
'No, it doesn't. It's very unfair.' she admitted softly.  
He let out a shuddering breath against her shoulder. She could hear him swallow hard.  
'It doesn't seem to faze you at all.' The undercurrent of jealousy in his voice was muffled by her nightgown. She focused on a patch of bare wall over the bed.  
'I've cleaned the entire mortuary eleven times.'  
He lifted his head to look up at her.  
'Once I'm done I just start all over. I've given everything small enough alcohol baths and sprayed everything else down.' She showed him her hands, rough from the chemicals, small red lines of broken skin over her joints.  
'People grieve diffently, Rudyard. I need my time alone but if your way is to talk – we can do that.'  
He pulled up his nose.  
'Really?'  
'Of course.'  
He hid his face on her shoulder again.  
'I miss them.' he sighed. 'I miss them so much - but at the same time, do I miss them enough? I wasn't exactly- wasn't exactly what they wanted-' his voice broke.  
She hugged him a bit tighter. It was true, they had always been harder on him, the family business heir and first son in seven generations. She had never given it more thought, though of course their parent's scrutiny had left a mark on him. While Rudyard was dragged around, made to get up early and stay late until every last bit was prepared before a job, she had been an afterthought. She preferred being left alone, though it could easily feel like being forgotten or ignored – especially if one was.  
'They weren't _great_ parents.' she said without anger.  
'I know, but-' But they had been there. Despite everything they been a constant for all their life, until now. And that was something. Antigone rubbed her eyes on her sleeve.  
'What are we going to do?' Rudyard asked. He sounded very tired.  
'We do our job.' she answered. 'We're the only funeral home on the island. Who else will get the-'  
' _The body in the coffin in the ground on time_.' he completed his father's favourite saying. 'Yes. You're right.'  
'I pretty much always am.'  
He let out a snort.  
'Since when exactly?'  
She jostled him.  
'Ha-aahhh, my various injuries...'  
She pushed out the air in a way that was almost a chuckle. They let go of each other.  
'...Alright?' she asked.  
'Yes.'  
'Good. Because I'm knackered.' She got up and stretched, causing her joints to crack loudly. She picked up the cup of cold tea and stopped at the door, her finger resting on the switch for the ceiling light.  
'Can I turn this off?'  
Rudyard nodded.  
The big light went out and left Rudyard with the warm yellow glow of the small lamp.  
'Thank you.'  
'Don't make it weird.' she stepped onto the landing, 'It's your turn to do the laundry by the way. This nightgown is soaked in your snot. The stains may never come out again.'  
'Goodnight Antigone.'  
'Goodnight.'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AAAHHHHHHHHHHHH.  
> IT IS DONE. That's it for now folks, the fic is over as are the holidays and I have to get back to work :')
> 
> Though I really don't enjoy writing I had fun because you guys were along for the ride! My special thanks and eternal gratitude to Melanie_D_Peony and imitateslife, without their encouraging comments I would have surely given up at the very first hurdle. They inspired me to write and actually finish this baby, which is now my longest fic on here so far   
> – so, thank you guys. I really mean it.
> 
> Enjoy yourselves!
> 
> PS: Did you know fully grown silverbacks are stronger than 20 adult humans combined?

**Author's Note:**

> DEAREST READERS I MUST PROCLAIM MY LOVE FOR YOU
> 
> I hate writing but I keep doing it bc attention from strangers on the internet is the only thing that matters apparently - might have to talk to my therapist about that
> 
> You know the drill: English is not my first language so be gentle on me please and if you leave a comment I will love you forever and mention you in my will - same old, same old.


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